One night, I was in the dark, wheezing, perhaps not breathing at all. I could smell the dust, airless room around me. And the stench of moss—or the rotten bog, I wasn’t sure.Continue reading “The Silent Road”
Dawn came with a dreary gray, ominous without a sign of warning. Until the clouds gradually cracked into a half, exposing the radiant of the sun light, he still did not care.
Again, I felt the same pulse.
It thumped me on the chest harder than ever, as if a swarm of timpanists were clashing the drums and fighting between themselves. I still ignored it until the ordinary beat became a frenetic, perpetual rhythm.
Throughout the sun, I was only able to see the cloud. They huddled together like a flock of woolly sheep, wavy but fluffy as marshmallows. Last night, I discovered the same cloud. They were unfolding like the muddy lake’s surface, with no ripples as if it were about to engulf anyone who crossed it. And the woman to my right did the same thing.
I SMELL A POWERFUL, AN UNPLEASANT REEK, which disoriented my senses and jolted me awake from my slumber. Each one expropriates my mind: obscurity, confusion, oddity. I tell my legs to shift so I can bear the pain.
Grey, white, or a similar color with dark paint as concrete; permanent building constructions—high and plush-up to the sky; four-and-two-wheeled machines lined up on the road; pollution and cigar smoke jumbled together to spike each heart; and no green, no trees.